Maggots of Society
by Burnt Flower
Summary: Andrew was a kid who wanted to become a Pokemon Master, a dream that was destroyed when he fell in love with Claire, a psychopath that wants to become the Chosen One. Now he must stop her, while trying not to become what he's fighting against...
1. Prologue: The Perfect Dream

Author's Notes: Yeah, I tried my hand at writing a journey fic. Hopefully, I didn't screw up too badly. XD

Violence and extremely disturbing themes abound in this fic.

**Maggots of Society**

**Prologue: ****The Perfect Dream**

Andrew Morton woke up with plenty of time to spare the day he had to get his first Pokemon.

He was up before the first rays of sunlight penetrated the gloom of night, way up before that awful Dodrio screeched its usual morning greeting, and most definitely up before his annoying Pokeball-shaped alarm clock started beeping.

Yes, Andrew had meticulously planned to the last insignificant detail for many long weeks beforehand how this glorious day would turn out. After all, he needed to be at top of his game in order to completely destroy everyone's hopes of ever becoming successful Pokemon trainers. But most importantly, he craved with an almost sickening and desperate fervor for Professor Oak's approval.

Appearances were everything in this image-driven world, and Andrew was confident that he would make an excellent and long-lasting impression on Professor Oak. He had practiced in front of his mirror religiously each and every day; from the best way to compliment the professor's pristine lab coat, to the perfect timing on when to laugh at his reused, unfunny jokes. He had cultivated his perfectly hypocritical image with loving care, and had been especially cautious that his true personality wouldn't crack his beautiful, deceitful mask.

Andrew picked up his backpack which he had packed many days ago with all the essentials for his journey, and headed downstairs.

Hoping against hope that the _thing_ was still sleeping, he tiptoed down the mahogany staircase. With each careful step, he made sure to pause to listen for any suspicious noises. Hearing none, he continued his descent. Just when he thought he was free at last, all his hopes were dashed once he saw _it _at the foot of the stairs.

His mother.

"Hi, sweetie!" she greeted him in an annoyingly high, sing-song voice. She was wearing a loosely fit red dress that practically consumed her small frame and had her hair up in a messy bun. It was a truly nauseating sight.

No matter how many times he saw her, his extreme loathing pumped through his veins, poisoning his very heart. Andrew bit his inner cheek, not wanting to lash out and ruin everything. He focused on his throbbing pain on the inside of his mouth, the metallic taste of his own blood, _anything_ than to see into the eyes of the despicable woman who was beaming fondly at him. But even as he faced this mental ordeal, a voice at the very back of his mind reproached him harshly. All those long years of carefully honing his guise would utterly go to waste if he couldn't even deceive this monster into believing he was a normal, little boy who loved her back.

With this in mind, but cringing inwardly, he answered sweetly, "Hi, Mom!"

"Come on, I made breakfast!" she said happily, taking his hand.

Andrew followed her reluctantly, his fake grin still painfully plastered on his face.

Once they were inside the kitchen, Andrew noted bemusedly the large quantity of food laid out in the table. He sat down, losing all of his appetite on the spot.

"I know you'll become a wonderful Pokemon Master. Just be careful out there," his mother cautioned, frying some bacon.

Andrew stared at her blankly with his deep, brown eyes but said nothing. Deep down, he knew his mother was a well-meaning, kind person who was proud of him and honestly wanted the best for him.

And yet that didn't matter.

He still wanted her dead.

She was also a silly, foolish woman who completely underestimated his full potential and never failed to point it out every single day. If she somehow thought that there was a slight possibility that he would _fail_ at becoming a Pokemon Master, then she was far more idiotic than he had imagined.

Entertaining himself with a fantasy of his mother pleading for mercy as he systematically pulled her nails off one by one with a plier, Andrew was able to keep his composure and smile naturally back at her.

"I can't believe you're already leaving on your Pokemon journey," she mused out loud, dumping the shriveled bacon on his plate. "I'm sure you'll do well."

Andrew grunted in reply, looking down morosely at his piece of burnt bacon. He was pretty much used to the outpouring of praise from practically everyone he had ever met, thanks to his deceiving persona, so a loving compliment from this devoted individual didn't mean anything to him by this point. He only sought Professor Oak's undying admiration; everything and everyone else was merely secondary.

Lost in his own thoughts, Andrew was completely caught off-guard when his mother wrapped her arms around him, pulling her only son into a warm, tender embrace; Andrew squirmed uncomfortably in her grasp, restraining the urge to savagely stab her with the butter knife.

"I love you so much," she said softly, completely oblivious that her blatant display of emotion was only fuelling Andrew's dangerous hatred even more.

"I… love you, too," he lied smoothly, fighting down the nausea that was bubbling at the pit of his stomach.

To his immense relief, she finally let go of her death grip. She ruffled his black hair affectionately and kissed his cheek before turning to open the fridge. Once her back was turned, he wiped her cheap lipstick marking off his cheek with his napkin. Slightly scowling, he resumed eating his breakfast, but not before furiously cursing his mother under his breath. If Professor Oak had seen that ugly thing, his grand entrance would've been completely ruined.

Once he finished, he thanked his mother insincerely for the 'marvelous breakfast', and hurried out the front door. Maybe if he was quick enough, he wouldn't have to say good-bye…

"Bye, Andy! Take care!" his mother shouted tearfully, waving a white handkerchief in the air.

"Bye," Andrew replied with as much sadness as he could inject into his voice, hiding his euphoria at leaving his wretched home forever.

It was still dark out, but this is exactly what he wanted; he couldn't let other pathetic ten-year olds beat him in getting the best Pokemon nor greeting Professor Oak first thing in the morning.

After a long, chilly walk, he finally arrived at the laboratory. With baited breath, he entered the sliding doors, looking expectantly in the crowd for his teacher. Almost immediately, one of the Professor's aides came up to him, wringing his hands.

"The Professor is running some important errands, but will be right back. Why don't you wait for him?" the aide suggested good-naturedly.

Repressing a shudder once he saw the man's greasy, pimply complexion and idly wondering why his hero worked with scum, he beamed.

"I have no problem with that," he answered politely, knowing full well that he needed to be nice to the Professor's lackeys.

Andrew made himself comfortable in one of the chairs; he folded his hands over his lap, and made sure to have his back perfectly straight, preparing to wait for him.

Every second that passed without Professor Oak by his side seemed like a year that stretched on everlastingly onto the next; his face ached painfully with the effort to keep up his charming smile; but he kept at it, confident that all his effort would pay off in the end.

When he heard heavy footsteps by the entrance, he turned eagerly.

"Yes, Professor?" he answered sycophantically, but his happy façade slightly fell once he realized it wasn't his adored idol that had finally arrived.

Andrew didn't recognize the tall, bedraggled teenager slumped over the doorway who stared at him with a terrible mixture of horror and pity. Covered from head to toe in soot, sweat and blood, he was appallingly out of place in the spotless laboratory. His matted, grimy hair partially hid his astonishingly blue eyes, and his nondescript clothing was muddy and ripped in several places.

When the stranger took a step closer to him, Andrew's heart began to race.

"There's no one here, Andy," the stranger whispered gravely in a hoarse voice, his pale face aghast.

Andrew raised his eyebrows in polite skepticism, forgetting his fear for a minute, wondering if the guy was delusional. "What do you mean? The professor's aides are just right over there." He pointed straight at the group of scientists who were diligently working in their respective tasks. Once they heard him, they all stopped to mechanically smile in unison; Andrew flashed one of his perfect smiles in return, his erratic heart easing slightly.

The outsider shook his head, his disheveled brown hair hanging limply over his heavily-scarred face.

"Andrew…" the teenager began, but his strength seemed to falter mid-sentence. Once he regained his valor, he looked straight at him with startling, sad blue eyes.

"Everyone's dead."

It took several long seconds for Andrew to fully comprehend his words, and yet, he shook his head defiantly.

"No… that's not true," he remarked off-handedly, laughing it off. "Right, guys?"

When he turned around, the sight that greeted him was distinctly, and horrifyingly, different from a moment ago. Pieces of broken glass littered all over the floor, reflecting the silvery glow of moonlight that spilled from a broken window high above. Wrecked machinery sparked ominously, now mere scraps of twisted metal contorted in menacing shapes.

"Guys…?"

Andrew could make out the unmistakable shapes of Pokemon amongst the carnage; a Spearow's decapitated head hidden behind an overturned table, a Jigglypuff oozing a strong, yellow liquid from its purplish innards, and what looked like a severely disfigured Mankey, its limbs bent disgustingly as jutted bones poked out in different directions.

And then Andrew saw him.

He made his way through the massacre, almost in a trance-like daze, as he approached his old mentor. Professor Oak was sprawled on his back, his body strangely frail and almost childlike in death. His eyes – those same eyes that had always seemed to hold immeasurable wisdom – were now open wide in unimaginable terror, a petrified expression forever etched on his face. His once spotless lab coat was slashed into shreds, revealing numerous crimson orifices underneath. Andrew bent almost reverently over his fallen hero, gently placing his dark hands over the fresh stab wounds; his blood was still warm.

Andrew screamed – a high, agonizing howl full of pain that seemed wrenched out from the very depths of his soul. He collapsed, his knees buckling beneath him. It was in this very moment – curled up among the grime of the dead, his cry still reverberating off the cracked walls – that Andrew began to remember. His failed, imaginary world soon dissipated only to be replaced with flashing images of the true reality: a pile of fetid bodies rotting below the sweltering glare of the scorching sun, an entire city burning under a crimson sky, the blank gaze of a little boy, and a beautiful, young woman smiling serenely amongst the chaos…

…_That woman… _

In his crushing despair, he only managed to choke out one word through his wails.

"_Her_."

This stranger, Jason, nodded somberly, his haunted blue eyes alight with an all-consuming, powerful hatred. "Her."

"She was the one to-to-to…" Andrew couldn't continue; Jason placed a consoling hand on his back and nodded.

"What do we do?" Andrew said hysterically, his large, brown eyes shining with tears. He grabbed onto his best friend's tattered collar with shaking, bloodstained hands. "What the fuck do we do now, Jason?" he almost shouted, his thin chest heaving agitatedly with each panicked intake of breath.

"You know what we have to do," Jason said incredulously, ignoring Andrew's strong hold on him. "You've known all along."

Andrew let go of his ragged shirt, covering his face with his blood-drenched hands, as his lanky frame shook from the force of his sobs.

In one swift gesture, Jason pulled out a gleaming pistol from his faded coat, and handed it to Andrew, who looked positively terrified. The gun in Andrew's grasp trembled violently, and his dark face was still wet and glistening with tears, but the next words he spoke to Jason had an astounding determination that he thought would never say.

"Let's do it."

* * *

So err, how was it? I hope someone enjoyed it. Regardless of whether you liked it or not, please do review if you have read this. Thank you!


	2. Chapter One: The Imperfect Past

**Author's Notes:** Thanks mgunh1 for the review! Now without further delay...

**Chapter 1: The ****Imperfect Past**

"Please help me."

A lone boy was huddled underneath a half-crumbling rooftop of a dingy pub, depression and sorrow etched in every contour of his pasty face, when he heard the faint cry.

It was a pleading sob almost drowned out in the bustle and hubbub of everyday life, the roar of the storm, the sound of the fat, cold drops smacking the asphalt road… and yet the boy still managed to hear it. Dejected and with nothing to do, he acted on impulse alone.

The boy ran.

He followed the source down the cobbled, trash-littered streets, through the dark, sinister lanes, and past the poverty-stricken buildings, straining to pay attention to that desperate voice muffled by the deafening howl of the wind. The rain was coming down hard over his head, chilling him to the bones, but his burning curiosity pressed his body far beyond his own limitations. He went onwards, ignoring all discomforts that tried to deter him from his goal.

The cries were getting higher in pitch and intensity, when the boy abruptly stopped next to an overflowing dumpster, the stitch on his side throbbing painfully, and his breath coming out in ragged gasps.

_It's__ here. _

Pushing away a brown lock of hair plastered over his forehead, the boy cautiously made his way to the back of the gloomy passageway, his soaked sneakers squelching loudly on the wet pavement as he moved forward. The boy felt slightly oppressed by the looming, ugly walls on either side of him, but he continued to approach the pile of filthy boxes stacked haphazardly at the end of the ally with a detached sense of trepidation. He knelt down beside a sodden, slimy cardboard box, seriously deformed by the heavy rainfall and the passage of time. With slightly trembling hands, the boy opened the malformed flaps, anxious at what he would find inside.

It was a child; he was barely a bundle of dirty rags, his extremely emaciated frame partially concealed by his ratty, colorless clothes. Once he noted the boy's presence, he raised his dirty face, his sunken eyes silently imploring him.

"Please help me," he repeated softly, weakly lifting one bony hand. And reflected in those wide, brown eyes was the dawning of a terrible and horrifying madness unlike anything the frightened boy had ever seen before…

"Jason?"

Hearing his friend's voice, the boy abruptly came out of his eerie stupor with a mind-halting crash back to the present.

He distinctly heard the _pitter-patter_ of rain hitting the window panes, as well as the ominous rumble of thunder in the distance; it was always during these dreary, rainy nights that Jason Tucker began to remember.

A bright bolt of lightning tore through the heavens, briefly illuminating his room for an instance. A myriad of colorful toys surrounded them both, but Jason was only focused on Andrew's eyes, and how very little they resembled those that had been bright with tears and the onset of insanity…

"It's n-nothing," Jason stuttered, mustering a weak smile. He desperately tried to repress those terrible memories, and yet, these unbidden images came forefront on his overly agitated mind. He hid his face in his pale hands, feeling hot tears forming at the edge of his vision. Jason desperately tried to control himself – he couldn't afford to look weak in front of his only friend – but an unexpected, pathetic whimper escaped his quivering lips.

Andrew sighed, clear disappointment in his eyes. "How many times have I told you, Jason?" he said in an overly exasperated tone of voice, rubbing his temples. "You have to listen to me at all times."

"S-sorry," the shy boy whispered, frantically wiping his blue eyes with his red pajama sleeve.

"Grow up, we get our first Pokemon soon," Andrew said seriously, his dark face creased in annoyance. "And if I don't look my best for Professor Oak..." He left that train of thought unfinished, the thinly implied threat very much clear.

Jason nodded timidly, knowing full well how much his friend desired to become a full-fledged Pokemon trainer: posters of Professor Oak's wrinkled face were plastered all over the walls, heaps upon heaps of charts detailing Pokemon attacks lay upon the desk, and encyclopedias dealing with fascinating subjects – such as the mating habits of Caterpie - were scattered messily all over the floor.

"I don't like this toy," Andrew said, examining a Squirtle figurine with a vapid smile painted across its plastic face. Without any preamble, and much to Jason's shock, he gleefully broke one of the cyan arms, splintered the tail, and finally – as though assessing the final brilliant stroke that would complete his masterpiece – snapped the head off, before dumping the pieces unceremoniously onto Jason's lap. "It looks better now."

"That's okay!" Jason desperately tried to sound cheerful, as he stared gloomily at the broken remains of what once was his favorite Pokemon action figure. "I didn't really like it, anyway."

The nervous child was keenly aware that his best friend was a little bit mean at times – like the time he accidentally set his Blastoise plushie on fire – but that still didn't change one irrefutable, undeniable fact in his mind: Andrew Morton was the epitome of perfection. His charming personality drew the praise and admiration from everyone who was blessed to be in his presence and he remained remarkably humble throughout it all; he was obviously going to be the greatest Pokemon Master of all time.

In comparison, Jason was just a puny weakling, a nasty tumor on humanity's backside, a writhing maggot that was abhorred by all…

But he didn't really mind; he accepted his pitiful place in the planet with a sincere smile on his face and an unwavering positive outlook on his disgraceful life. After all, this was the way the world worked: only the strong survived and the weak died. Andrew had taught him the importance of this, and he hoped that one day he could achieve his level of greatness; Jason was condemned to be one of the wretched souls that would pass away, forgotten and shat upon by society. But not him. _Not Andy._ He was destined to be someone important.

Jason was just happy that someone as wonderful as Andrew considered _him_ of all people in the world as his best friend. His introverted, reclusive nature prevented him from truly connecting with other boys his age… but that was also fine by him; he didn't really desire the company of others. Why would he? With someone so great by his side, he felt like the luckiest ten-year old boy in the whole planet.

"Hey Jason, would you mind throwing that out before bed?" Andrew asked sharply, pointing toward the shattered Squirtle toy.

"No problem!" the child exclaimed readily, throwing it into the trash.

Jason was just getting into bed, when a balding, thickset man appeared by the doorway. He lumbered over to Andrew's bedside, a soft smile on his normally austere face. His father tucked Andrew to bed, placing his beloved Charmander plushie next to his pillow.

"You'll be one great Pokemon trainer someday," his dad said lovingly, ruffling his black hair affectionately.

"Oh, I will!" Andrew piped up, cuddling the stuffed Charmander doll.

"'Night, Andy."

"Goodnight, Dad!" Andrew said tenderly, his grin as wide and brilliant as always.

When his father moved right past Jason's bed, not sparing him even the slightest glance, he didn't feel any resentment or bitterness toward his best friend. His parents loved Andrew more than him, and who was he to question it? Jason knew his friend deserved this deep affection more than anyone else, but, very deep down, he longed for that same approving, fond look his father reserved only for Andrew.

His dad clicked off the lights, leaving the dark room. Feeling his eyelids getting heavier, and waving aside all feelings of inadequacy from his head, Jason welcomed sleep's sweet embrace.

"Please help me."

His blue eyes flew open.

Sitting straight up in bed, his heart racing, he looked anxiously over to his best friend's bed. Andrew was comfortably nestled under the covers, his chest rising slowly as he slept, finally at ease with the world. Jason reassured himself that this had been one of his many fantasies, but the bad feeling didn't leave, only tightening his heart even more in a vice-like grip.

_Just my imagination…_

And though Jason still tried to convince himself that everything was fine, he could still hear the hopeless echoes of the past, even as sleep consumed him.

* * *

"It's _her_."

It was the next day, and Jason and Andrew were hiding inside some prickly shrubbery; the former was almost bustling with anticipation, while the latter was just confused, trying to keep the bristly vegetation from poking his eyes out.

"Come on!" Andrew hissed impatiently, peering through the bushes. Jason felt an annoying itch in his arm, and was also experiencing something akin to claustrophobia, when he saw her.

The thin girl was wearing an elegant, pink dress with a matching bow that sat atop her short, curly hair. She was sitting under the cool shade of a large oak tree, calmly reading a large tome; apparently it wasn't to her tastes, as her green eyes slowly narrowed with each passing line.

"Oh, so that's the girl you like," Jason said, before scrunching his nose in disgust. He wanted to warn his friend about the rampant cootie infection all girls had, and comment on his unhealthy infatuation, but he remained quiet. This was Andrew after all, and if she was the object of his affections, then she had to be the nicest, kindest, and most wonderful girl in the whole wide world.

Andrew rolled his eyes, picking up on his apathetic tone. "It's not just any girl." He grumbled when Jason's pale face stayed bewildered. "She's my future girlfriend." A greedy smile lit up his slightly blushing face, as he said this.

"If you say so…" Jason said vaguely. This girl was nice-looking in Andrew's eyes, so he tried to look at her in the same appreciative light, but failed miserably; in his opinion, she looked more like a runt-like alien from another planet.

He was lost in his own thoughts, when the girl, in one swift movement, threw the book she was reading hard against the tree behind her; it fell uselessly to the ground, spine bent, and its loose pages fluttering in the summer breeze.

Leaving behind all pretenses, she stared almost hungrily in their direction, her face hideously contorted in a grotesque parody of a smile.

"I see you."

Jason felt a strangled scream fighting to get free, but only a feeble peep came out of his mouth, his heart beating erratically.

"Jason, let's go talk to her," Andrew whispered eagerly. It was a direct order.

And without conscious thought, without taking into account all the repercussions that would soon follow, without considering that he was betraying the whole validation of his existence…

…Jason disobeyed Andrew.

He ran the whole way back home, the sight of that unwholesome, chilling smile forever burned into his memory.

* * *

Jason was a fool…a disgraceful and disgusting _fool_.

Head hanging in shame, he was sitting in Professor Oak's laboratory, inwardly cringing at what he had done. This was supposed to be an important day for them both, but thanks to his foolhardy actions, he destroyed all hopes of a good beginning. Professor Oak was currently lecturing a group of ten-year olds on the importance of raising Pokemon properly, but Jason hardly paid attention, wordlessly wallowing in his own misery.

Once Andrew had come home, Jason took one good look at his eyes and knew that he was in trouble.

"You've made me look like an idiot," his best friend had spat, snarling.

His friend had raised one dark hand, and struck him hard across his face, his expression bereft of any compassion. The inhibited boy had taken it silently, knowing full well in his heart that he deserved so much worse. Even now, Jason still felt the sting of the slap on his cheek, but that was nothing compared to the look of complete and utter disillusionment that had shone darkly in Andrew's eyes. Jason covered his pale hands over his face, feeling tears come to his anguished blue eyes; he really was a complete failure.

Andrew had left by the time Jason had woken up in the morning, leaving him a crying wreck once he realized that he was gone. As he got out of bed, picked up his stuff, and went to the laboratory, the boy had sadly wondered if their promise to travel together was now broken.

Thinking back realistically, he knew exactly what had happened yesterday. The unbearable heat of the afternoon sun had played tricks on his mind; the girl had been only stretching, when the book accidentally slipped her grasp, and then, embarrassed by her mistake, she had flashed them an awkward but friendly grin. Feeling very stupid, Jason realized with a sad twinge that he had ruined everything by completely misinterpreting the actions of a lovable, clumsy girl.

Mentally berating himself, Jason looked over to Andrew's direction, who was now face to face with Professor Oak. His appearance looked the same always – his brown eyes were teeming with confidence, and he was beaming warmly back at his hero, but Jason sensed that something was off; he was utterly perplexed that the normally unruffled and contained Andrew was coming apart at the seams in front of him.

"Young man, here's your Pokedex and Pokeballs," the old man said cheerfully, handing it to him. "Now think carefully before choosing one of the Pokemon…" Professor Oak's voice trailed off, his watery eyes suddenly widening at what he was seeing.

With shock and repulsion, Jason noticed the yellow liquid that was slowly trickling down his friend's leg…

Andrew never stopped flashing that famous smile of his, as the wet spot on his shorts was growing ever larger.

"Andr-"

"Thanks for everything, Professor!" he interrupted his completely befuddled mentor, blindly grabbing one of the Pokéballs, and almost tripping on his stinking pool of urine.

He calmly left the building, apparently oblivious to the stifled laughter from his peers, and the foul-smelling piss trail he was leaving behind.

* * *

Jason immediately ran outside once he had received his first Pokemon; he shielded his eyes from the bright sunlight, but he saw no trace of Andrew anywhere. But then, sweet relief swept through his lanky frame, once he caught sight of him near a large boulder; he had changed into a pair of fresh pants, and his soiled shorts were lying far away, abandoned.

"Andrew, are you oka –" Jason began to say, but Andrew turned angrily toward him, his brown eyes blazing with fury.

"DO I LOOK LIKE I'M OKAY?" Andrew bellowed, violently grabbing the front of Jason's red shirt. "DO I?" The shy boy didn't know what to say to this, and submitted himself completely to the abuse.

"Hello?" said a sweet voice from behind; they turned around, startled.

It was that girl again.

Once he caught sight of her, Andrew uncharacteristically turned a bright shade of red, letting go of the tremulous boy. In contrast, Jason felt the unnatural urge to scream, but then he mentally chided himself that yesterday had all been misunderstanding on his part.

She noticed his friend's discomfited look, and placed a consoling hand on his shoulder. "Accidents happen," she said simply, patting his best friend's back. "Don't be embarrassed."

Andrew stared at her, his brown eyes alight with disbelief and a genuine sense of wonder. "What's your name?"

"Claire Mayflower," she said, her lips curling upwards in a mimic of a smile.

Rapidly regaining his cool, he extended his hand. "Andrew Morton," his friend said suavely, perfect grin in place, but his knees were trembling slightly as he firmly shook her small hand.

"Oh…and this is Jason Tucker," he added almost dismissively. The boy in question almost instinctively gave a curt nod, immediately averting his blue eyes from hers. Jason felt a sense of pride in his heart every time he followed this strict protocol perfectly: under no circumstances was he to upstage his friend in any social setting. Andrew had imposed this on him from an early age, and it had worked marvelously on his psyche; Jason had once been an overly talkative fool who always spoke out of line, but thanks to his best friend's doted guidance, he had flourished into a withdrawn, silent boy mindful of society's norms and regulations.

But she, Claire, was destroying all his years of hard work. Her presence unsettled Jason to the point that he was actually thinking of voicing his opinion. This perturbed him greatly.

"I was wondering…can I travel with you guys? I really don't want to be all by myself," she asked, her green eyes shining brightly with expectation.

Jason's heart twisted horribly at these words; he wanted to travel with Andrew, and only Andrew. He considered weakly protesting against this, but one good look at his best friend's hopeful countenance stopped him from saying anything; if this made Andrew truly happy, then his unfounded objections didn't matter.

Realizing that this was the chance of a lifetime to get back into Andrew's good graces, Jason turned towards her. "Yeah, you can travel with us," Jason said sullenly, trying not to look too disappointed. But once he saw Andrew's radiant smile, his eyes brimming with happiness, all his doubts about making a wrong decision were appeased.

Fortified by his delusion about making the right choice, he felt increasingly hopeful that they would all have an enjoyable journey.

* * *

He was in hell.

Jason clawed at his stomach desperately, writhing in intense abdominal pain. He gagged and sputtered, feeling nauseated to his very core.

"I'm really sorry; I thought the water was clean!" Claire cried out helplessly, holding an empty canteen.

They had all stopped to rest near the bank of a clear, sparkling lake after a very uneventful walk. With a dismayed pang, Jason had then realized that he hadn't filled his canteen with water before leaving home, as he had been very inattentive after his betrayal. Claire had adamantly insisted that the lake's water was fresh enough for him; it certainly looked like an iconic image of purity, but the apprehensive boy still had his doubts. She had encouraged him to drink it…to trust her word… He had been very hesitant to do so, but seeing Andrew's nod, he drank the apparently inoffensive liquid. That had been the start of this excruciating torture.

"Don't worry, Claire," Andrew said, laughing. "Like I always say, 'what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger', right, Jason?" He gave his sick form a barely veiled, contemptuous look.

The boy wanted to wholeheartedly agree, but in that particular instant, he was overcome by a violent coughing fit; feeling the acrid liquid rising up to his mouth, he couldn't stop himself from messily throwing up his warm, partly-digested breakfast all over the ground.

"Watch it!" Andrew screamed, taking a step back.

"Sor –" Jason tried to apologize, but the horrid sensation overtook him, and he retched again.

Quickly losing interest in this display of sickness, Claire enlarged her Pokeball and pitched it casually into the air. In a burst of radiance, the Pokemon inside soon became visible. A pale green Pokemon with dinosaur-like features, and an enormous bulb on his back, grumbled before casting a slightly mistrusting look to Claire.

"Hey there, little fellow!" she said happily, stretching her hand.

Bulbasaur remained still, his eyes slightly narrowed.

"It's okay; I'm not going to hurt you."

Bulbasaur inspected her cautiously with his red eyes for many long seconds. Feeling that she was no imminent threat, he warily extended one long, green vine, wrapping it gently over her outstretched hand. When she made no aggressive motion, he took a cautious step forward, his steely gaze never leaving hers. Finally, his green face broke into an enormous, toothy grin. Claire's smile widened.

"Wow, you're good with Pokemon," Andrew remarked.

"Oh yes," she admitted, petting Bulbasaur's rough head with utmost fondness. "I've always been _very_ good with Pokemon."

Although he felt like his intestines were tying themselves into knots, Jason decided to throw his Pokeball into the air as well, a certain curiosity taking hold of him. It split open, a beam of formless light almost blinding him, as it took shape.

The orange lizard blinked his brown eyes rapidly from the bright sunshine, swishing his fiery tail in the process. Charmander took one good look at surroundings – from the disgusting, yellowish puddle of vomit, to his new trainer that looked freshly unearthed by some gravediggers – and promptly returned back to his Pokeball. Jason groaned.

"Let's see your Pokemon, Andy," Claire insisted.

Andrew complied, unsmiling, unhooking his Pokeball off his belt and tossing it almost carelessly to the ground. It opened in a flash of dazzling light, materializing into a small, turtle Pokemon.

"Squirtle?" she asked, shaking all last vestiges of a long sleep. Once she realized that her new trainer was in front of her, Squirtle started to jump up and down in hardly contained glee.

"Squirtle squirt!" she said enthusiastically, turning around and offering her blue tail for him to shake; sensing that her trainer made no move to approach her, Squirtle's smile started to fade.

"Cool," Andrew said blankly, not even looking at Squirtle. Before the turtle Pokemon could voice her outrage, he returned her back into her Pokeball, his face surprisingly aloof.

"If you don't like the Squirtle, we can always go back," Claire suggested innocently, twirling a lock of blonde hair around her finger.

"I like it!" his friend insisted earnestly. "I really do!"

As Andrew tried to convince her, Jason noticed that an almost culpable, guilty look had come to his best friend's brown eyes.

* * *

It was dark out, and Jason was staring transfixed into the camp fire, the flames throwing distorted shadows across the pebbled ground. Claire and Andrew had left the camp site hours ago, claiming that they were only going out to look some firewood. Still burning up in a feverish haze, Jason dully thought that they had been gone for far too long; he was already starting to miss his best friend's condescending, and disdainful company.

The timorous boy got up, feeling the need to empty his bloated bladder; he walked slowly, deeper into the dusky woods, the sickening water still sloshing heavily in his stomach. He was fumbling with the buckle of his pants, when he heard them.

Andrew and Claire were sitting side by side in a large clearing, completely enraptured in what apparently looked like a heated discussion; they were bathed in silvery moonlight, giving them an ethereal, almost godly, look to their features. Claire was lying down in the grass, her blonde hair fawned out like a golden halo around her head, while Andrew was nervously turning a rock in his hands, his dark eyes large with apprehension.

"I just wish some things were different," Andrew whispered, throwing the rock and clenching his hands into fists.

"Well," Claire paused, deep in thought, her calm, green eyes gazing almost trance-like at the wide expanse of night sky, "why don't we change it all?"

An uneasy silence hung heavily between them both, seemingly getting denser with each and every uncomfortable second that passed.

Andrew spoke first, his expression unreadable. "How?"

"Don't worry, Andy," she said kindly, her eyes sparkling with barely-concealed mirth. "Just leave everything to me."

The boy stared at her intensely, as though she were the most beautiful and inspiring thing he had ever seen in his whole life, before nodding.

"Okay then."

Unexpectedly, a strange shiver ran down Jason's spine at these disconcerting words, but he hardly noticed once he caught a look at Claire's expression. Maybe it was due to the fact that it was so dark out – shadows contort even the most innocuous of things into frightening shapes – but for a second he thought that an almost deranged, triumphant look lit up her pallid face.

He briefly considered coming out of his hiding place, but then Andrew's disillusioned gaze swam before his blue eyes, and decided against it; he wasn't going to make the same mistake again.

Jason quietly went back to the camp site, not saying anything at all.

But he wasn't worried.

After all…

Andrew Morton always knew best.

* * *

Oooooooo, I can almost taste the disappointment. I promise it'll be better next time. ;.;

To anyone concerned that Andrew's crush is just something unnecessary I added, do not worry. It will be an important plot point later on.

Chapter 2 is coming up…!


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